Survival
by LittleApril
Summary: Pre- and Series. The story of how Daryl, Merle and Emily joined the Atlanta survivors. Follows both WD: Survival Instinct and the television series. Daryl/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Survival - Chapter One**

"Sometimes even to live is an act of courage." - Lucius Annaeus Seneca

_The hunting shack was thread-bare and desolate, and the light of the Georgian sun bled in through the gaps of the shutters. Opposite his uncle, Daryl Dixon stared down at the beaten oak table and roamed his eyes over the remaining ammunition. He counted the hunting knives and the pistols, the bolt-filled leather and suede quiver by the doorframe. He counted each piece of weaponry twice before turning back to his elder, listening as the man called him forward. _

_"Daryl, come here, We gotta work up a plan," muttered Jess Dixon, gesturing to their small armoury. _

_"Have you ever seen anything like that?" _

_"If you told me about it," continued the older male, shaking his head in disbelief. "I''d call you a liar."_

_"Listen," cut in Daryl, knowing there was no time for idle conversation. "There's more of them comin'." _

_"We gotta go!" _

_"The only thing we gotta do is kill every last one of them!" argued Daryl, pointing to the woods beyond the shack. He ran the pad of his thumb over his knuckles and brought it to his lips, distinguishing the metallic taste of blood on his tongue. Running his thumb back over the cuts, he could feel the shards of reflective glass caught between his skin. It didn't matter. He would worry about that later._

_"Daryl," said Jess, "I know you're upset, but just listen!" He motioned to the door and the bangs and scuffles of the creatures outside. "That sounds like a whole lot of them. We need to go. Now." And with those words, Jess began to pack their supplies into the empty duffle bag on the table top. "Gather up as much as you can and meet me at the truck!" he all but shouted, snapping his nephew into action. _

_"Let's go, then!"_

_Jess turned back to his ward. "Daryl, remember what we learned about them. Head trauma. Attack the brain, remember? Only thing we know that kills them. And be quiet sneaking out the back door. Don't let them see you!" _

_As his Uncle Jess left the shack, Daryl stared around the place. He loaded the bag with the ammunition and glanced down at the sheaths, noting that one of the nine inch blades was missing. The cries and groans of the biters grew louder with each passing second, and without second thought Daryl scooped up the remaining knives and stowed them in the bag. He brandished his own ten inch blade and made his way toward an open window at the back of the lodge. He passed the faded photo of him and his brother, and dropped the empty knife sheaths on the lodge floor. "Good luck to you, too," he muttered._

* * *

The Georgian sun was blistering and it burned the asphalt. The days had blurred into weeks. How long had it been? Daryl wasn't sure. He knew that the days seemed to get longer, the sun grew hotter, and his fight for survival increased with each Biter kill. Having made his way through the towns, scavenging gas from Lucky Lester's gas station, listening to the radio transmissions, Daryl felt drained. Supplies were limited, and he'd taken to looting through abandoned cars and SUVs, snatching water bottles and ammunition that had been left behind.

It wasn't long until Jess succumbed to his wounds, and Daryl had to put a bullet through the man's brain.

* * *

Days later, he met other survivors: a woman named Scout holed up in an abandoned eatery. She told him of their troubles in this desolate town, of the Biters that roamed the streets and most of the buildings. Scout alerted him to the sounds of the sniper positioned atop one of the roofs, the man shooting at their small team and the car alarms.

"Who's "us?" he asked. "You two?"

Scout shook her head. "No," she replied. "Gotta whole team out there." A pause. "Or did. We scavenge supplies for the local survivor camps-"

"There're survivor camps?"

A nod. "The military supplies some of 'em with weapons, meds… There's a big one at Cherokee Hills Sawmill. We were doing pretty well, until that psycho-sniper showed up and brought a whole mob of Biters down on top of us. We got split up," she told him. "Pinned down… Killed."

Daryl nodded his head, knowing there was more to be said. She had gestured to the bag of weapons on the floor, telling him he could have it. But nothing came for free - not even at the end of the world.

"I need to get my people together. One of my runners, Mia, is holed up in the theatre across the street. Help her out and I'll make it worth your while. Just tell her Scout sent you."

"I'll think about it." And with those parting words, and a second glance at the rucksack of weapons, Daryl cursed and turned away, readying his knife and pistol. Since when had he turned into an errand boy?

* * *

It didn't take long to locate the other woman. She was rude and abrupt and sickly pale having spent the last three days trapped inside the theatre. She pushed him away as he approached, and in response Daryl did a quick sweep over the darkened room. No food, no supplies, no weapons. She was harmless. The woman, Mia, spat insults at him as he tried to explain the situation, and Daryl was quick to display his annoyance with the situation.

"There's a half-ladder down," explained Mia, pointing in the direction she needed him to go down. "Clear the way and I can get out, and back to Scout. There's another girl in our group. No one's seen her for days-"

"Let's do it," interrupted Daryl. The sooner he killed those things, the sooner he could find Merle and leave. "I gotta get over to the Police Station to get my brother, anyway."

"The Police Station?" scoffed Mia, and she bit out a laugh. "But that's where the killer is set up!" At her words, Daryl's brow furrowed. "You think your brother is even alive?"

Scouts words ran through his head: w_e were doing pretty well, until that psycho-sniper showed up and brought a whole mob of Biters down on top of us! _And in reply to the woman's question, Daryl nodded and turned away. "Yeah," he muttered. "I've got my suspicions."

"Hey!" called Mia, stumbling forward. "You never told me your name!"

"Does it matter?"

She shook her head. "Guess not. But just listen, OK? Like I said, there's another woman from our group out there. I never learned her name, but she's a good person to have around. Great with a knife. Even better with a med kit. If you see her, help her."

* * *

The trick with the half-ladder was easy enough, and Daryl had earned his bag of weapons in less than two hours. He bid his goodbyes to Scout and her group, the third woman still AWOL, and made his way through the cells of the Police Station. What he saw inside one of the locked cells had his stomach turn. A Biter had made quick work of his cell mate, blood red flesh painting the floor of the cage. Daryl looked away, disgusted. Why waste energy killing an animal that couldn't get out? Besides, he had to find Merle - had to leave the town and eventually the state.

The passage to the roof of the station was littered with Biter bodies, and Daryl shook his head as a smirk played on his lips. He pushed at the door, unsurprised when it would not open. He cursed under his breath, and bit down on the inside of his cheek in irritation when the familiar voice sounded from the other side of the door.

"Oh, no!" sang Merle. "Sneaking up, are we? No, no, no. You're never gonna take me back there!"

_What the hell?_ thought Daryl as a bullet grazed the left side of the door. "C'mon, Merle!" he shouted through the frame. "It's me!" Silence. "Merle!"

The shooting ceased for a short moment. "What's lower than impersonating a man's long-lost baby brother?! You're just trying to gain false entry! That's what you're doing!"

"Damnit, Merle! I'm just going to leave you here!" An empty threat, knew Daryl. But it appeared to have worked.

A laugh rumbled. "Keep your pants on, sweetheart. I locked this place down pretty good…"

The door to the roof opened and two strong hands clapped Daryl on his shoulders and dragged him onto the ground. Merle locked the door behind them, coming to stand beside his brother as the two looked each other over. "Them people?" began Merle, jabbing a finger at the door, "They locked me up for days in the dark with all them abominations!" He grunted, moving back toward his rifle. "But look'ee who's just a little bit too smart for them!"

Daryl shook his head, a string of curses and swears flitting through his mind. "Bro," he said, taking in Merle's red raw skin. "You're stir-fried some the sun and booze. And what ever you been into."

Merle shrugged his shoulders, wiping his knuckles across his forehead. A line of sweat trickled down his neck. "I do feel a little warm, now that you mention it." He gestured to his hands, noting the red marks cut into his wrists. "I sprang myself, see? Established my little sniper's nest right here." He pointed to the clutter of guns and the blue and white deck chair. "And then I commenced sending those soldiers packing!" He guffawed. "I rang the alarms calling in the abomination!"

"Man, those aren't soldiers down there!" bit Daryl, "just some scavengers trying to help people out. They don't even know who you are!"

"They're in uniform, ain't they? And they came to take me back to the hole!" Merle spat on the floor. "And I'm not going anywhere but Jake's, and that's where you're gonna take me! C'mon!"

And with that, Merle stumbled to the floor.

Daryl wrapped his around his brother, feeling the heat of Merle's skin against his own. How long had the idiot been out here for? Since it all started? "Let's go, you ape," muttered Daryl, struggling to hold his brother upright. "Guess I gotta lug your thick ass back across town, huh?" He shook his head, pulling Merle to his feet. "Man, you must be running over a hundred and six…"

"My chair!"

Daryl closed his eyes and shook his head once more, leading his brother back to the door. "Yeah," he said, and he ran a tired hand over his jaw. "It'll be here when you come back."

* * *

The route from the Police Station to the car was littered with Biters of all shapes and sizes. Some were slow, stumbling and groaning, and others were fast with teeth snapping and hands outstretched. Readying his weapons, Daryl aimed a hit to the back of a Biter's head and watched in satisfaction as blood gushed from the wound and the body hit the floor. He copied his actions till a row of Biter bodies lined the way toward the Police Cruiser Daryl had acquired five days ago.

"I see somethin'!" shouted Merle from the passenger seat, pointing at the building opposite them.

"No time!" argued Daryl, but he followed his brother's line of sight to see a flash of blonde hair zipping between the buildings. Daryl frowned. Was this the third person? The third woman to Scout's group? "Hold on a sec," he said, watching as the Biters, three in total, advanced on the lithe form. He exited the car, ignoring the shouts from his brother, and jogged to the alleyway closest to them, watching as the blonde woman raised her knife against the Biters. In seconds, two of the creatures were on the floor with blunt trauma to the neck and skull. The third Biter had no arms though it lunged forward, and had it not been for Daryl's knife, the woman would have been sporting a rather messy bite mark.

The woman emptied the contents of her stomach upon the floor, and she remained hunched over.

Was this the woman? wondered Daryl. He crept closer, wiping the blood off his knife on his pants leg. And from his position in front of the blonde, his eyes narrowed in recognition. "Emily?" muttered Daryl, shaking his head at the sight of the woman. "Em," he repeated. "That you?"

The woman looked up at the call of her name, her blonde ponytail matted with blood and dirt. She stumbled to her feet, swaying to the left, before running forward to collapse against the hood of the car. She glanced up at the male, and her green-flecked eyes bore into his. "Hey, Daryl," she breathed.

* * *

**So... What do you think?**

**This story will closely follow the game (Survival Instinct) and the television show. It will be an eventual Daryl/OC with more to come in the later chapters. If you've yet to play SI, I advise you to read with caution. A lot of the dialogue comes from SI's script, but with Emily's charater a lot of the scenes will be my own. **

**If you'd like to read more, please review. I have the next chapters written and ready to upload. So... Please review! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Survival - Chapter Two**

"Sometimes even to live is an act of courage." - Lucius Annaeus Seneca

"Jesus, Emily," muttered Daryl, checking her over. "You bit?"

She shook her head. "Everything but a bite," she rasped out. "I must've ran two counties," she told him, trying to regain her balance. And through the haze of the light, she mumbled a quiet thank you as Daryl held her steady, his calloused hands gripping her forearms. Her feet ached and the beaten tennis shoes she wore did nothing for the soles of her feet. The clothes on her form, a light-weight jacket and denim jeans, were weighed down by the day-old rain water that had saturated the material.

"Where the hell did you come from?" rasped Daryl, eyeing her outerwear. "Hasn't rained here in days."

"Like I said," mumbled Emily, "I must've ran two counties."

"Don't lie to me."

She shot him a look, her breathing still erratic. "OK," agreed Emily, knowing that it was futile to come up for an excuse - Daryl Dixon was anything but a fool. "But can we get out of here? There's more of those things on the other side of town. The numbers are growing." She rubbed at her arms, rolling back the sleeves of her sodden shirt. "If we're going," she patted the hood of the car. "We need to go now."

"Take the backseat," barked Daryl, jumping in the driver's side of the cruiser.

Hearing the moans and shuffle of nearby Biters, Emily clambered in the back of the car and hastily buckled her seatbelt . She'd seen enough repercussions of car crashes in the Emergency Room than she was comfortable with, and she swore to always wear her seatbelt - end of the world or not.

The voice from the passenger seat made her skin crawl.

"Well, now," called Merle, a slow grin spreading across his face at the sight of his brother and the woman, "if it ain't Little Emily James."

Emily watched as his eyes leered at her in the rearview mirror. She closed her own, breathing in through her nose in displeasure. "Merle," she greeted. And glancing back in the mirror, she eyed Daryl and sighed.

* * *

They stopped for supplies an hour later. A small town on the outskirts of Tyrone, Fayette County. The afternoon had winded down into evening, and the sky darkened with each mile travelled. The group of three journeyed in silence, Daryl hitting the radio every so often to listen to local news broadcasts. As he hit the tuner for the fifth time with no avail, Emily spoke up.

"The reports stopped two days ago," she told them, keeping her voice quiet. "It's why Scout and the others started scavenging."

The car pulled to a stop on a muted backroad. Killing the engine, Daryl muttered something about siphoning gas from the nearby abandoned vehicles. In the passenger seat, Merle continued to sleep off his drug-induced high. And not wanting to be left alone with him, Emily pushed open the car door and followed Daryl to a nearby SUV.

"You gonna tell me why you're soaked?"

She nodded her head, keeping her voice low as they neared the next car closest to them - a rundown jeep. "A couple of them chased me into the woods near a lake south of Etowah. Turns out these things don't know how to swim or float. It seemed like my safest option."

"A stupid option," berated Daryl, shaking his head. He glanced around, still keeping his eyes trained on their surroundings. "Could've killed yourself."

"I had to think on my feet," muttered Emily, trying to avoid the look he was giving her. "My feet led me to the river."

"How'd you get out?"

"Swam to the opposite side of the lake and ran like hell," she muttered. As Daryl handed her the gas can, she furrowed her brow. "What the hell did you do to your knuckles?" she asked him, grabbing his wrist to inspect the jagged cuts.

"Nothin'."

"Daryl," chastised Emily, turning the man's hand over in her own. And using her nails, she plucked a tiny piece of reflective glass from his skin. "You have glass shards buried beneath the dried blood." She glanced up at him. "What did you do? Punch a mirror or something?"

"Or something," he repeated, voice low. "Don't bother," he instructed, pulling away as the woman tried to retrieve more of the glass embedded in his hands. "Let's go." And ushering Emily in front of him, they made their way back to the cruiser.

* * *

How long had it been? An hour? Thirty minutes? Daryl had left the two in the car parked beside an abandoned theatre. The minutes dragged and they seemed to last as long as hours. From her position in the backseat, she uncapped her bottle of water and sipped at it, wanting something to do other than sit and wait.

"Tell me something, Little Emily," uttered Merle, and he turned in his seat, peering down at the woman. "You fucking my brother?"

At his words, Emily let out a disgusted laugh. "You're sick," she told him. And she pushed his arm off her shoulder. She gestured to the gold band wrapped around her finger. "You know I'm married, Merle. I invited Daryl _and_ you to the wedding." She continued to tell him the facts. "You've _met_ Josh."

Merle hummed something under his breath. "And where's that husband of yours now?"

"Defending his country." And Emily, never one to back down from an argument or banter with Merle Dixon, continued. "Where's yours?"

A smile stretched across Merle's face. "Kittens still got claws, huh? What would little brother do if he knew the truth about you, Em? Huh?"

And suddenly she wanted to go back to silence.

* * *

"How long has it been?" Emily asked from the passenger seat of the car. "Six years? Seven years? I invited you down to the house. You _and_ Merle." A thoughtful look crossed her face. "I sent you letters - stupid little parcels and packages of things that reminded me of you." A pause. "I haven't seen you since the wedding, not that you even came."

Beside her, Daryl scowled at the steering wheel. "What?" he rasped. "You angry with me or somethin'?"

She shook her head, neither smiling nor frowning. "No, not mad. Just confused."

"What's there to be confused 'bout?"

A sigh. "Did you work that weekend? The weekend of my wedding?"

"I told you I was busy."

"That whole weekend?"

"Yeah. Why?" Daryl frowned.

"Because the Friday before the wedding," began Emily, choosing her words carefully. "I called the garage. Smith answered. He told me you had the weekend off. Had it booked off. You told him you had something to do that weekend that you couldn't miss."

"So?"

"So," drawled Emily, folding her arms across her chest. "What was so much more important than your friend's wedding?"

"Does it matter?"

"Shouldn't it?"

"Don't do that," muttered Daryl. "Don't answer a question with a question."

"Daryl-"

"What do you want from me, Em? Huh?"

"An honest answer."

Daryl scoffed and continued to stare out at the road ahead of them. "Don't suppose it mattered much," he muttered after a minute of silence. "You had all your family. All those college friends."

"Is this what it's all about?" sighed Emily. "Because I left to go to college? Daryl, that was fifteen years ago. And I didn't even leave town. I stayed behind and waited tables for the better half of four years. You know that." And as she looked back at her friend, she realised that there was no point in continuing this particular strand of conversation."What happened?"

He remained silent.

"What happened to you?" Emily repeated, gesturing to the cuts on his hands. She glanced out of the window and looked at Merle as he leaned against the side of the car.

"I was out hunting with my old man and Jess," answered Daryl, his voice rough in the silence. He ran his teeth across his thumbnail, shaking his head to get rid of the memories. "Old man got bit. Jess got a scratch on his arm." And knowing that his friend knew the consequence of the aforementioned injuries, he continued, "Couldn't do it. Had the gun in my hands, had it levelled at his head, but I couldn't do it. And Jess did it for me."

Emily closed her eyes and breathed in through her nose. She raised her hands and ran them down her face till they rested on her lips. "Good riddance to the man," she muttered, staring straight ahead so she didn't have to witness the look of surprise on the man's face. "It sounds like Jess did a mercy killing." And with those words, she finally glanced at her friend to see that he was staring at her in dead silence. "A mercy killing is too kind for what that man did to you-"

Daryl shook his head and climbed out of the car. "Don't."

* * *

**In honour of it being Walking Dead Sunday, here's Chapter 2! A big thank you to everyone for favouriting, alerting and reviewing! I'd love to see some more feedback. If this gets a lot of demand, I'll post the third chapter tomorrow morning!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Survival - Chapter Three**

"Sometimes even to live is an act of courage." - Lucius Annaeus Seneca

The backroads and streets blurred into one as they left the county, weaving around abandoned vehicles and rotten corpses, and the three travelled in silence. Emily sat slumped in the backseat, her tangled blonde hair scraped back from her face, her eyes watching the passing scenery. Silence was both a blessing and a curse. It allowed her the quiet to think, to relive the past twelve days, but the silence was deafening. Hers and Daryl's conversation plagued her mind. She had known the man for twenty-six years, and yet she still couldn't read him. Daryl's thoughts were closed off from the rest of the world. And with Merle beside him, the two forced back together in the heat of the mess, Daryl remained silent.

"You got a weapon?"

Emily turned to her right and showed Daryl the pistol she had tucked into the waistband of her jeans. At his surprised look, she elaborated. "A parting present from Josh. He didn't want me running 'round these parts with no protection." Her words were mumbled, and she turned away from her once-upon-a-time friend. "My aim isn't all that great."

Daryl nodded. "A shot will only attract them."

"Then it's a good thing I held onto this, then, huh?" And with that, Emily lifted the leg of denim material to reveal a long hunting knife strapped to her calf - nine inches in length. "Not the best place to hide it," she admitted, releasing it from its sheath. The blade glinted in the dim gaslight, and she held it in the air. She swallowed. "Remember this?"

He nodded. "I gave you that blade for your birthday." And that was all he said. He moved away from her, bruising her shoulder with his, and beckoned her to follow him through to the abandoned hotel.

And with a sigh, she followed.

* * *

Jake's. The sight of the bar made Emily's skin crawl.

"I'm surprised Little Emily," leered Merle, glancing at the woman stationed in the back of the cruiser, "you got no bastard kids wandering around this neck of the woods."

"What?" barked Daryl. "You worked at the bars?"

"Had to make it through grad school, didn't I?" She shook her head. "Don't look at me like that, Dixon. I did what I had to." She rubbed her arms, hoping the friction would warm her pale skin. "The pay was terrible but the shifts were short and nearly bearable." And as she spoke, she was idly aware of Merle clambering out of the car to head toward the bar. Not wanting to be trapped under Daryl's heated gaze, she too jumped out of the car and followed Merle inside.

"You worked here?" repeated Daryl, lip curled in disgust, never far behind.

"Saved her ass a couple o' times too," grinned Merle, steering to the left. He disappeared behind the counter, snatching bottles of booze from the bar-top.

"Don't remind me," sneered Emily, taking a sip from her water bottle.

"You know what kind o' _idiots_ hang round those parts, Em-?"

"People like your brother?" she reminded him quietly, levelling her glare at him. "Your brother and I have an understanding, Daryl. It's a shitty one, but it's there. He made sure no one touched me. He made sure no one bothered me."

"Yeah?" said Daryl. "And what was his prize?"

Emily closed her eyes. This isn't what she had expected. This isn't what she had wanted.

"Don't hide from me, Emily. What was his prize, huh?"

Her eyes snapped open, and she kicked the floor. "He promised to look after me, and in return I turned a blind eye to the goings on in the darkest areas of the bar. You know as well as I do that I must've been the only human being in this place with a conscience. In turn, Merle was just looking out for himself. If things got rough, Merle was there to straighten them out. In the end, I had my shifts arranged at the only times I knew your brother would be there. A deal with the devil."

Daryl shook his head. "And Josh? What does he think to this, huh?"

Emily paused. "He doesn't know."

"So you never told him?" laughed Daryl, still shaking his head.

"He's off fighting for his country, and you think I'm going to let him worry about a few bar shifts at the bad end of town? He didn't need to know!" And Emily let out a heavy breath, pushing past Daryl and out of the saloon. She stood outside, keeping watch for Biters and stray survivors, grimacing as the Georgian sun shone in her eyes. Hearing light footsteps behind her, she didn't need to turn to know that Daryl had followed her out of the building.

The two stood in silence, minutes passed, and the couple jumped in alarm as gunshots rang out in the warm air.

"What the hell?" muttered Daryl, forcing himself against the doors. "Merle!" And with both him and Emily pushing themselves against the wood, the doors opened and the two tumbled back into the bar.

"Don't kill me, brutha!" pleaded a voice. It sounded familiar, and Emily drew in a sharp breath at the sight.

"I ain't your brother," spat Merle, keeping his gun trained on the crumpled figure.

"It wasn't my idea to sell you out! I swear it!"

"Oh, I believe you, Ash. You're just too damn chicken-shit to cross me. Now, why don't you tell me where the rest of the club's at," and with that, Merle levelled the barrel of his gun at the man's head, staring him dead in the eye.

"Out, man! Lookin' for stuff!"

"Oh, damnit, Merle," hissed Daryl, shaking his head in disgust. "This whole trip was just for your stash?"

Merle glowered. "Quit your bellyaching," he barked. "You're giving me a headache, son."

Daryl pointed an accusatory finger at his brother. "Jess was right about you, you selfish son-of-a-bitch!"

"Don't be that way," grunted Merle. "Look," he said, gesturing across the bar to where a familiar sight is hidden beneath broken tables and glass bottles. "I kept that crossbow of yours."

"Man, you just don't get it, do you?" And just as Daryl spat out his words, a fourth man entered the saloon and yelled as he caught sight of the Dixon brothers. He yelled Merle's name before exiting the bar, shouting to alert the other members of the crew. The first gang member escaped the confrontation and shouted to the others.

Daryl and Emily stood side-by-side, and the blonde worried her lip between her teeth. But before she was able to comment on the goings on at the bar, two larger men tackled them to the floor, grunting and shouting with each blow they delivered to the couple's heads. "Go on," grunted the larger of the two. "Grab all his shit! And the girl! We gotta get to Merle before he can ride."

Daryl's eyes fluttered to a close, his eyes blinded by the darkness, and he watched through half-lidded eyes as the men dragged Emily's beaten form from the bar.


	4. Chapter 4

**Survival - Chapter Four**

"Sometimes even to live is an act of courage." - Lucius Annaeus Seneca

Disoriented. Daryl Dixon stumbled to his feet, resting a hand on the slick surface of the bar. He came to quite quickly, staring around the empty saloon in disgust. He patted his pockets and sides, wanting to grab his knife, and frowned as he discovers he's unarmed. "Where's my blade?" he muttered. And he slowly came to realise that the thugs had rendered him useless. "They took everything?" He posed his question to the empty building, knowing that if walls could talk, the building would have enough secrets and dealings to fill up an entire book.

* * *

Beaten. Emily opened her eyes, hearing the shouts and cries of the burly group of men. The noise was muffled and it took her a few short seconds to realise that she was surrounded by darkness. The air was thick. She struggled to breathe and with a cry of alarm, she realised she was locked in the trunk of a car. Her screams went unnoticed and knowing that oxygen was in short supply, she quickly closed her mouth and forced her foot against the roof of the trunk - kicking it with all the strength she could muster.

* * *

How long had it been? Daryl searched the area, combing through the abandoned cars and vans. He turned, holding his crossbow aloft, watching the empty street. It was then that he heard it - the thump of something in one of the cars. A muffled scream. Creeping forward, Daryl readied his weapon before popping the lid to the trunk of the car closest to him. What he saw stopped his breathing. "Jesus, Emily," he grunted, ripping the dirtied rag from her mouth. The girl coughed and sputtered, kicking her legs out over the edge of the trunk.

"I can't-", began Emily, still coughing. "I can't breathe."

Daryl reached into his pack and pulled out a bottle of water. "Take it," he ordered, dark eyes watching her every move. She looked like a wild animal, her doe brown eyes flitting back and forth. "You good?"

She choked on the water as she chugged it down. "Never better," she muttered. "Where's your brother?"

"Up ahead."

And she nodded her head, running her cramped hands over her tired face. "We better get moving before any of those _things_ catch us standing here." A pause. "Which way?" she asked.

"Stay behind me," muttered Daryl, and he led the way back to the car.

* * *

"Scout?"

"Emily? Thank God! We thought you'd died," cried the redhead, swinging down from her perch atop the abandoned truck. The woman smiled, though it didn't meet her eyes.

Daryl took one step forward, raising his arm to point at the female. "Saved your ass at the diner," he remembered, previous conversations flooding his mind. As the woman began to call in a favour, he grunted, "Do I look like your bitch?"

Scout laughed. "Not in that outfit you don't," she answered, eyes roaming over the two's tired and ragged forms.

"What?" barked Daryl before the words sunk in. "Hell no," he replied, turning away. It was Emily's hand on his arm that pulled him back, tugging him closer.

"Oh, c'mon," laughed Scout. "I was only teasing."

Daryl shook his head. "Yeah? And where's that bag you promised me at the diner?"

Scout raised her brows. "You know this guy?" she asked Emily, ignoring the first question.

Emily nodded once. "And old friend. A good friend."

The redhead tilted her head to one side, and she turned back to Daryl. "We haven't even gone on a date-"

_"What?"_

"Stop with the games, Scout," demanded Emily, shaking her head. "We're losing daylight. It's not safe to be out there." She looked at Daryl, and continued when he chanced a glance at her. "Where's the bag?"

With her hands on her hips, Scout shrugged toward the parked car. "Give a girl a ride," she bargained, "and then we'll talk."

As she moved away, Daryl grasped Emily's arm and dragged her forward, lowering his lips to her ear. "This is the girl you teamed up with?"

She refrained from rolling her eyes. "It was the end of the world, _Dare_," she muttered back, using the old nickname. "It's not like I could just choose who was on my Kickball team."

And with that, she made to move away, to follow Scout, but Daryl tugged on her arm once more. "You stay by me. Got it?"

"Got it," muttered Emily, and she followed him to the car.

"Let's go," said Daryl, "before I change my mind."

* * *

"You don't say a whole lot… Do you?"

The question pierced the uncomfortable silence. Scout sat in the passenger seat of the rundown blue car, Daryl in the driver's seat. Emily lounged in the backseat with a sleeping Merle. The blonde ran a hand over her face and through her hair, rolling out the stiffness in her shoulders.

"Nope," muttered Daryl.

Scout glanced back at Emily, offering her a grim smile. "Right," she said, addressing the two of them. "So… I'm Anna Turner, but all my friends call me Scout."

Daryl shrugged his shoulders. "Daryl," he said. And he gestured to the two in the backseat. "My brother, Merle. And Emily James-"

"Grayson," said Emily automatically, swallowing back the lump in her throat as she thought of her husband. Had the infection spread through the war-zones? "Emily Grayson." And she twisted the band of gold around her finger once more.

Scout sighed. "Look," she continued, "about leaving at the diner, I _had_ to get my friend to a hospital. You got people depending on you, you need to push on. And with Em gone, I had to do what I figured was best."

"Noah?"

Scout nodded. "My Dad's a Sheriff, so I was helping with what I could - scrounging supplies, helping people.

Daryl spoke next. "So… What happened?"

"He made me promise to get to the evacuation centre at Palm Meadow estates. He said he was pulling his deputies in and that he'd meet me there."

And with a quick glance in the rearview mirror at the two people he had left, Daryl bowed his head. "S'the best plan I heard all week," he said.


End file.
